


Of Love & Duty

by delawana



Series: Lyna Mahariel, Warden Commander [2]
Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Mutual Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-17
Updated: 2019-12-17
Packaged: 2021-02-26 06:01:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,706
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21828628
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/delawana/pseuds/delawana
Summary: Lyna Mahariel had planned it all; if she couldn't rule with Alistair she would find him a suitable wife and stay by his side. Everything had been considered, down to the last detail.Everything except the impossible.It had never once occurred to her that the love of her life might leave her.
Relationships: Alistair/Female Mahariel (Dragon Age), Alistair/Female Warden (Dragon Age)
Series: Lyna Mahariel, Warden Commander [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1571797
Kudos: 11





	Of Love & Duty

The camp was so empty without him there. It had always felt full to bursting when Alistair was around. His personality pervaded through any space he was in, leaving no room for loneliness or sadness.

Lyna had set up her tent while it was still light out but now shadows cast by the light of her bonfire danced on the canvas. Somewhere in the distance an owl hooted and its mate answered as they hunted together in the darkness. The sky was devoid of stars, the only light from above faded moonlight partially obscured by clouds. It felt a little like rain, heavy and silent. It would be appropriate if it rained tomorrow. 

She shivered in the chill from the evening and moved closer to the fire. Before, he would have put his arm around her and pulled her close, freely sharing his warmth; he always had run hot. Now she was alone.

She hadn’t had to be. She could have been inside the city at the palace instead of on her own just outside the tall stone walls. Alistair certainly wasn’t lonely tonight, on this, the last night before he was wed. He was probably completely intoxicated and surrounded by the gaggle of vapid women who seemed to dog his steps nowadays. It was embarrassing to watch them throw themselves at him. She would never fawn over him the way they did, simpering and swooning at every stray glance or word from his mouth. She respected him more than that. He’d invited her to come tonight, of course - she was his best ‘man’, after all. But attending the wedding and feigning happiness tomorrow would be trying enough as it was so she had made her excuses and left the city. She would return to the castle before the sun was up to dress for the grand event. She needed time alone to think, and couldn’t get it inside the confined, monochrome palace.

The fire was dying down and she threw another small log on, wanting a bit more time before she resigned herself to restless sleep. The light flickered and tiny pockets of sap crackled as the fire consumed the new wood. She would have to be up very early to bathe before leaving or else she’d smell like smoke, but she’d do it. She was determined to outshine any of the fine ladies who were far more suitable for court life than a Dalish elf such as herself. Ladies who were  _ acceptable _ to be queen or princess or teyrna or whatever foolish, invented title they held.

This wedding had always been coming. She’d arranged it herself, a perfect marriage of convenience to secure peace in Ferelden. Of course, when she had pushed Alistair take up the kingship she had intended to share his throne. She was going to end the Blight and then have her perfect happily ever after ending; she should have known better than to believe that even then. She hadn’t been so naive as to think that her being an elf wouldn’t be a problem, but her feelings and misplaced confidence had blinded her. How had she allowed what she felt to cloud her judgement? She knew better than that. 

When she had faced resistance to her plans she had changed tack with barely a blink, orchestrating a union between him and the dowager queen, with whom she had made an arrangement that would allow her to remain by his side. Everything had been meticulously planned, all possible outcomes accounted for. She had only failed to consider the impossible. The hurt she felt now wasn’t her fault, it was his. There was no way she could have possibly considered that he would leave her. It was a variable that had she had never factored in.

She picked up her spade from her pack. With no one else to mind the fire she would rather wrap herself tighter in her blankets to keep out the chill than allow for the fire to potentially become unmanageable while she wasn’t conscious to control it. She should try to sleep anyway - this disgusting self pity needed to be suffocated before it began in earnest. It served no one well for her to start thinking about what ifs. The flames hissed as she piled earth over them to snuff them out. 

It was much darker now that the fire was only scattered embers, but she knew instinctively where her tent was; she always set it up the same way when she was alone.

She hadn’t used this blanket in a while. For some time now she’d been recovering in the city and hadn’t needed it. This was the first occasion for her to take it from her pack. The smoke from the fire had irritated her eyes, she thought to herself when she unfolded it. That was why they were watering, no other reason. She hadn’t cried since she had seen that Alistair was still standing after the archdemon was dead and she blamed that weakness only on the sudden lack of adrenaline. There would be no tears now, even if the blanket did still carry the smells of leather and sweat and harsh lye soap, the same scents that she had loved to breathe in as she curled up next to him. That part of her life was as over as the Blight.

If Morrigan were here, she would know what to say. The witch had disappeared after the battle and so both of her dearest friends had departed, though only one was physically distant. Morrigan could have shaken her from this abyss she found herself in, knocked away the heartsickness that made her feeble with a few well chosen jabs. But she was gone and presumably pregnant with the child of the man Lyna loved. She felt a pang of some indefinable jealousy and swallowed hard. Her mouth suddenly felt dry. It was unpleasant.

For a moment she had considered refusing Morrigan’s offer to complete the ritual that would allow both her and Alistair to survive. Some brief dramatic inclination had tempted her to allow the archdemon to take her now that she was without the man she loved. She still didn’t know what had come over her then. Morrigan had helped. Even though Lyna was well aware that she had her own private motivations for the ritual, the witch’s words to her had rung true. It was not worth it to give up everything for any man, not even the one who had pieced back together her fragmented soul after she had become a Warden, the one that she needed to complete her. 

No, she didn’t need him. She shouldn’t allow herself to think that way. It was more than possible for her to be whole alone, she had never felt like she was missing anything before him. He was to blame for ever having made her so pathetic, with his idiotic, beautiful grins and stupid, clever jokes. It was his fault that she was heartbroken.

Maybe she flattered herself, but she thought he needed her too. 

_ No, not too. Stop that. _

He wasn’t shrewd or calculating. He was too trusting for his own good. She had decided to become his chancellor to help him. It was all for him. It was to preserve the peace she’d brokered. Her girlish emotions would be put aside so that she might be of service to him. She was not interested in any political gains for herself.

Squeezing her eyes tight shut, she balled up her fists and bit her lip until she tasted blood. It was all a lie. She had always made an effort to be brutally honest with herself when the situation required. The lies she whispered to herself were just that, and she was uncomfortably aware just how untrue they were even as she told them. She would never beg for him to take her back, not ever. But the thought of a life without him was intolerable, completely unimaginable. There was no altruistic desire to help a country that she felt little attachment to. She didn’t want to help him, she wanted to be near him because she was an idiot and couldn’t let him go. Perhaps helping him would allow her to assuage her own guilt.

_Maybe this situation is all your fault_ , she thought as she stared upwards at the darkness. _Alistair didn’t break your heart, you stupid child, you did._ It was something she must accept; she had miscalculated. She had reduced people to chess pieces on a board rather than living, feeling beings and had grown upset when they didn’t behave like automatons. It was not a mistake she was liable to make again, but now she must endure this path she had unintentionally chosen.

She lay on her bedroll, unsleeping, for the rest of the night.

* * *

Nobody seemed to notice her entering the next morning. Servants fluttered about, busily preparing for the feast that would begin in the afternoon and not end for two days. No one had a single thought to spare the quiet elf, hair still damp from river water, resolutely striding down the halls before most of the nobles had arisen. Lyna was glad of it. It was going to be trying enough to converse with the other guests later; needing to put on her social mask early and act the happy Hero of Ferelden to any servants might overexert her before it mattered.

Her room wasn’t in the guest quarters. As chancellor, she had a room nearer to Alistair’s than was quite comfortable. She hadn’t taken any pains to make it feel like hers, but nobody who entered would have assumed that it was anyone else’s - it either belonged to her or was a storage closet for Grey Warden memorabilia. All of the commemorative glasses and dishes and ridiculous carved figurines of archdemons and griffins were stacked in a corner - Alistair had insisted she get one of everything made. It was unclear what their purpose was or what she would ever do with them, and so they sat, untouched, in a pile. 

The room itself was lavishly furnished, with a four poster bed made from some dark wood that gleamed with lacquer, a rug so plush that it made her somewhat uncomfortable to walk on in stocking feet, and reddish coloured tapestries with images of Mabari embroidered on them on the walls. Alistair had told her that he’d replace the musty old wall hangings with anything she wanted but she hadn’t made any suggestions. He took far more of an interest in her living space than she did. 

She had left her dress laid out on the bed and the tiny pots and jars that held the cosmetics she made herself by the glass in the room. The mirror was the only part of the room she had requested. It was the largest she had ever seen; she could almost see her whole body in it while standing up. She still wasn’t used to the luxury of being able to see her reflection when getting ready, but appreciated it today.

Piece by piece, she laid her armour on the stand in a corner. It had been broken and repaired so many times that it was likely beyond fixing now. It hadn’t seemed to be worthwhile to invest in something better - a week ago she had received a missive requesting that she travel to Orlais to meet the Warden Commander there and be fitted for new armour. She was sure it would look nicer than the leather that had grown soft and ragged; Orlesians were known for their fashion sense. It would be uncomfortable until she became accustomed to its stiffness though - new armour was always so unpliable.

Her dress was long and as green as her eyes, the fabric shiny and stiff in its own way. Though it was tight around her waist it had no corset. She couldn’t have worn one even if she wanted to anyway due to the long wound from the archdemon’s claw that wrapped from just under her right breast to the back of her left hip. It had mostly healed now but was taking longer than the mages and physicians had expected. Ever since the blight sickness that had necessitated her becoming a Warden everything seemed to take longer to heal, even with magical help. Her own frailty and powerlessness to  _ make _ herself heal angered her.

The gown left her shoulders bare and revealed a decolletage that she was really quite proud of. It could definitely hold its own among humans, and Alistair certainly hadn’t complained. Golden threads were embroidered across her bodice and the loops of fabric that served as sleeves. Roses and griffons - it had been her special request that everything be connected by sharp, thorny vines. She could almost feel their prickliness. The seamstresses had done well. 

She looked impassively at herself in the glass. Yes, this would do. She cut quite a serviceable silhouette. This gown was far longer and nicer than any she had ever worn before, and yet it already felt like an extension of her skin, made exactly to her taste, protecting her. Anora’s dress would likely be overcomplicated and gaudy in its detail in contrast to the simple elegance of this one. Good.

Taking one of the jars from the top of the dresser she applied a powder to her face. The cut on her right cheek was still so ugly and angry. Just when she had thought it was almost healed it had gotten infected, twice. At least now it would be less visible. The powder covered her vallaslin too so she traced over it with something dark green, darkening and filling out the tattoos. She used the same green on her eyelids before darkening her eyelashes and pinching her cheeks, finishing everything off with a reddish-brown lip paint. There was a time when she didn’t wear makeup as heavily, but today she needed it. It would help her hide the feelings she was determined to suppress. It would allow her to be beautiful again.

Peering into the mirror again she took in the full effect of her transformation. Last few touches now, she thought as she dabbed perfume from a small vial onto her pulse points. Amber, jasmine, tuberose. All difficult to come by but important for the occasion. Hair down. He’d always liked that. She brushed it out and styled it quickly; it had dried nicely, the platinum waves cooperating for once and falling softly midway down her back. 

She was going to torture him.

There was a knock at the door. Arrayed for battle now, she was ready to be charming and sociable and nothing like the Dalish savage she’d heard herself described as.

His lopsided grin nearly broke the resolve to control her feelings that she had so carefully nurtured all night. She was going to torture  _ him? _ The man hadn’t said a word and yet he’d dispelled all the determination gained the evening before.

“Soooo, how do I look?” he asked, as he exaggeratedly posed to show off multiple different angles.

_ Lovely. Adorable. Handsome. Happy. _ But she couldn’t tell him those things. Was there anything to say to that that was safe, for either of them?

“Like you could  _ almost _ be the minor lord of some distant province.”

“Ouch! I think I clean up rather well, thank you very much.” He looked away from her face for the first time and was less than subtle in his appreciation of her dress. Oh, he was  _ trying _ to be subtle, there was no doubt about that, but she knew him better than she knew herself. 

“I won’t tell you how nice you look - it’s plain on your face that you know exactly how distractingly beautiful you are and I don’t need you going and getting cocky on  _ my _ day.” He had always been so good at deflecting with humour. Sometimes it had annoyed her, but today it seemed like it would be her saving grace.

“Now if you’ll let me in, I promise it’ll be worthwhile,” he said as he pulled a flask out from an inner pocket of his jerkin and waved it at her conspiratorially.

She looked at him incredulously. “I don’t know how you can even look at that after last night.”

“A fair point. And yet...” He laughed with that beautiful, full laugh that made her want to burst out laughing with him. She didn’t. “It ended earlier than planned, actually - less fun without you.” He looked down as he said the last bit and refused to meet her eyes.

She made a space for him and he entered the room, making a beeline for the stack of trash in the corner. Rooting through the boxes, he produced two low glasses with pewter griffins stuck to one side.

“See, I told you this junk would be good for something.” 

His voice was a little less confident than it usually was. It made sense that he would be nervous today.

Lyna sat down on the bed. While Alistair poured the whiskey, focusing intently on ensuring that the liquid was even in both glasses with his tongue to the side of his mouth, she took the opportunity to really look at him. He was starched and ironed within an inch of his life and the red and gold of his clothing was positively regal. Theirin colours. He might not like it, but kingship did suit him. Her Ali, put together for once in his life.

_ He’s not your Ali. What is wrong with you? Al-ist-air. No more nicknames. _

A glass was placed in her hand and the space on the bed beside her taken up as Alistair sat down. 

“Just a little drink, is it?” she asked him as she swirled the rather generous amount of amber liquid around. She could smell how smoky it was even from far away.

A flush spread over his cheeks. “I needed a little courage, and well, I just kept trying to make them even and then there was so much…”

“You’re an idiot, Alistair.” She smiled at him softly and felt the doe-eyed expression on her face that she couldn’t seem to stop.  _ You’re the idiot here, Lyna. Stop it. Why does he make you so weak? _

“Cheers to my idiocy.”

The whiskey burned in her mouth, then left a sweetness on her tongue that faded away into a bitter aftertaste.

“I wanted to see you before everything, just us,” he said, meeting her eyes intently. “Lyna, I’m terrified. It’s going to be so… there are... a lot of people. It will be hard.” Somewhere in the middle of his speech he had had to turn away and look down at his lap. His fingers traced the embroidery at the bottom of his vest. She didn’t think her heart could break more - maybe it couldn’t for herself, but it broke for him.

He had never been one to mind an audience; she knew what he was saying. The stolen glances and studious avoidance of any physical contact told her that he was still pretending, too. If she was thinking clearly she would put her guard up now, shield herself with anger, but this was  _ Ali. _ He needed her.

“I’m scared too,” she said in some attempt to be reassuring. Scared to lose him, scared that she would somehow become unhinged and scream or cry, scared that she wouldn’t. She wished that she could take his hand in hers, at least comfort him properly. But it was too risky. She couldn’t allow herself to do that if she had any hope of not telling him to run off into the sunset with her. She would not under any circumstances let herself be that weak. They both had duties to fulfill. 

“You can’t be scared! If you’re afraid then there’s no hope for me.” He was still uncharacteristically serious, but a slight twinkle appeared in his eye and a half smile played in the corner of his mouth. She did love that little smile, the one that so often broke out into a dopey grin. Sometimes, when he did that after he said something stupid and funny and looked at her like he was just waiting for her to groan she used to wipe it off his face with a kiss. It caught him off guard every single time.

_ That is enough, Lyna, why are you doing this to yourself. _

“Tell you what,” he began, “If you can keep it together then so can I. I’ll take your lead, just like old times.”

Like old times. Times when this ridiculous boy had been so afraid of command that he put an untested girl in charge - and she’d made him king. Another reason why she needed to stay here in Denerim to look out for him.

“I can guard your flank and pick off any enemies who get too close.” 

He chuckled. “I’m glad you’ll have my back. You were always good at that - except for that one time, you remember, the day I said something that was very likely quite horrible to Morrigan and she hit me  _ with my own frying pan _ while you just watched.”

“I didn’t have time to react! And besides, it was just a little tap.” She was truly smiling now. It had been really funny, though she had worried for him at the time. Morrigan had been so angry; she couldn’t even remember what about now. 

“Oh was it? Easy for you to say. I’ve never felt more betrayed by something that usually brings so much joy. By which I mean the  _ pan _ .” He grimaced petulantly and Lyna took another sip of her whiskey to try to contain her laughter.

That solemn expression returned to Alistair’s face and he shuffled slightly in his seat before opening and closing his mouth as though he was working up the courage to say something.

“I’m glad you’ll be with me,” he said softly. “I could use my family being near - we are still family, right?” They had promised to always be that to each other, but that promise was so very long ago, before everything.

“We’ll always be family.” She still meant it, even if she was hurt, even when it was difficult to spend time with him. It was the only way left that she could allow herself to care for him.

He gathered her up in one of his enthusiastic, tight hugs and she had to take care not to spill her glass due to his fervour. Her face was pressed against his shoulder, the satin of his finery soft on her skin. He smelled like soap.  _ And warmth and love. _ The heat from his body made her realize how very cold her arms were. She was afraid to let go; letting go meant that all of this was over.

Her clan had never stayed in one place for too long, certainly not long enough to grow attached to a place. The concept of home was one that she had barely understood - until she had met him. Here, now, together: this was home. 

_ I’m so sorry, _ she thought, not sure whether she meant it for herself or for Alistair.

* * *

The golden band in her hand felt as though it was burning a circle into her flesh. 

Some insane part of her had never truly believed that it would actually happen, even as she got ready - even while she took her place slightly off to Alistair’s side. Why had she agreed to stand beside him? She could have refused. She could have been a guest, like their other friends in attendance. There were so many eyes on Alistair, and on her, their hero. She would need to keep tight control over her features so that she didn’t accidentally betray herself. At least she was sure that she wouldn’t cry. She had held it together with Alistair earlier. She would be fine.

Music played as Anora walked from the back of the great hall towards where he stood. It sounded joyful, but to Lyna it was as mournful as a funeral dirge.

Alistair shifted from one leg to the other uncomfortably and pulled at his collar before turning to her for reassurance. Their eyes met and a wash of understanding flooded through both of them: it was a goodbye. There had always been some hope while they were both still free, but this marriage denoted a definitive break. 

_ I love you too, Ali _ , she told him in her answering gaze. He turned back and squared his shoulders, prepared now to do his duty.

She would never again express her feelings on the matter. Not with words, not with her eyes, she would hide it all.

Anora caught her eye as she approached and looked at her graciously, inclining her head ever so slightly toward her with a polite smile on her face as befit such a well-bred lady. She knew she had won; she understood courtly games and intrigue far more than Lyna did. The place she filled could so easily have gone to another - maybe even to Lyna, had she been more experienced and well connected. Maybe something could have outweighed the fact that she was an elf. Lyna was a quick study; she smiled back, beaming at her as though this was the outcome she had intended all along and made an effort to hide the ice in her eyes. 

Wedding dresses in Ferelden were going to be black for years to come, Lyna could already see it. Anora’s gown was as decorated as she had expected it to be, a dusky satin overlaid with complex embroidery in golden thread and embellished with rubies. It wasn’t simple like her own dress, but it was far from gaudy despite the sheer amount of ornamentation. Anora had impeccable taste. She could choke on her perfect fashion sense. Was there anything that Lyna could do that Anora couldn’t do better? She stood a decent chance to be a good, perhaps even great monarch, but dread wolf take her.

She had never seen a chantry wedding. It didn’t seem much different from the bonding ceremonies in her clan, just presided over by a woman in a big hat rather than a keeper. There was a time when had wondered if Alistair would have agreed to be bonded in the Dalish way. Maybe if she’d pushed to run off and get married in the woods she wouldn’t be standing here now, watching the queen promise to love and care for the man she loved.

She was going to keep that promise - Lyna had made it clear to her how seriously she should take it. She wasn’t sure if it made it easier or more difficult to know how little Anora cared for him.

As Anora made her promises in her clear, confident voice, Lyna could have sworn that she heard a sharp crack as her heart broke. 

It was Alistair’s turn next. She had to hand him the ring. Something that was not Lyna but took her form walked forward and placed it in his hand before returning to her place. Their fingers touched, but she might as well have been made of wood for all she felt. She was frozen, lifeless and cold, watching with unseeing eyes, listening with unhearing ears as Alistair said his vows. 

Somehow, it didn’t hurt.

The chantry mother pronounced them husband and wife and more music played. Very little was different, only a few words had been spoken, and yet everything had changed. She had worried that what came next would be the hard part, but it seemed that the hardest part was already over and she had come out the other side. Here there was no sadness, no pain… no feelings at all. Now she could be strong again, no longer distracted by childish dreams. 

Her heart was buried, the dark closing around it. There was some comfort in the knowledge that it would not be disturbed any longer.

She played her role as the supportive friend, the Hero of Ferelden, for the rest of the day and felt absolutely nothing.


End file.
